“Ian. Look at me.”
Ian looked at him, his eyes wide and dark, face flushed.
Robert switched to his left hand, using his other to cup the warm, damp weight of Ian’s bollocks. He urged Ian’s thighs farther apart with his knee and then let his right hand drift lower, to the swell of his arse, running his finger along the seam.
“I’ll make it good for you,” he murmured. He licked Ian’s thigh as he pressed in, tracing the tight bud with his fingertip.
As he explored, as his left hand continued to pump steadily along Ian’s cock, he watched his face, made note of every shift in expression. Gently he pushed in and was met by a slight resistance before his finger was taken in a tight grip.
Ian sucked in a noisy breath.
“You like that, don’t you?” Robert murmured. He knew how Ian responded to his voice—and he wasn’t above doing his best to drive him to distraction.
Ian hissed through gritted teeth. He thrust into Robert’s fist, and the only sound in the room was their heavy panting and the wet sound of Ian’s oiled cock sliding against Robert’s palm.
“Do you want more?”
“Aye,” Ian breathed.
A second finger joined the first, knuckle deep, and Ian took them both, bearing down hard.
Robert had never been so aroused in his life. His stiff cock was straining against the fabric of his breeches, and he felt like he might come just from that slight contact. But mostly he was focused on watching Ian, on every little sound and motion, on the way he felt.
He was beautiful, Robert thought. Good God, he was beautiful. His body was quivering, his chest splotched and red, his mouth open and his gray eyes wild and a little dazed as they latched onto Robert’s. He’d never seen the composed man so undone, had never thought it was possible that Ian could be this undone, and a fierce, primal satisfaction filled his heart.
This was what he wanted, always—Ian falling apart at his touch. Ian, shivering with desire. Ian, his.
The other man didn’t look away. It was almost as though he couldn’t. And Robert knew nothing short of the world ending could tear his gaze away, either. Maybe not even that.
Maybe he would just keep going as the castle fell down around them. It wouldn’t be a bad way to meet the end of the world.
He matched the rhythm of his fist to the rhythm of his fingers. One of his fingers brushed something, an accidental caress, and the reaction was instantaneous. Ian’s back bowed, hands clutching the sheets at his side.
He was close, his body straining, his hips erratic.
“Again?” Robert asked.
Ian was beyond words; he simply nodded.
Robert leaned closer, a hitch in his chest. That drive took hold of him again, sharper than before, almost overwhelming in its intensity. To see Ian helpless, mindless with need, to have his complete surrender. When Ian found his release, Robert wanted his name on his lips, every memory of every other lover vanished like air.
“Ask me nicely.”
Ian looked like if he wasn’t supine on a bed, he might have been tempted to strangle Robert. When he didn’t respond, Robert shook his head, let his fingers relax and his fist uncurl. He stroked Ian’s length idly, with only the tip of his thumb.
“So, so difficult,” Robert murmured. He closed his fist, one hard stroke—Ian’s hips jerked off the bed to thrust more fully into him—and then he let go.
Ian fell back with a harsh breath.
“You can end this whenever you’d like,” he pointed out.
“You—” Ian broke off when Robert curled his fingers slightly, brushing once more whatever had caused his strong reaction.
“No?” Robert asked regretfully, letting his fingers go limp.
“Robert.”
He liked that. Ian saying his name. The tremble in his voice. He took Ian’s cock in a firm grip but refused to move.
“Robert, what?”
He bucked against him. “Please.”
When Robert curled his fingers inside Ian and let his fist slide along Ian’s full length, Ian made a broken noise, half gasp, half sob, and stiffened, cock twitching as he erupted.
White spooled across Robert’s fist as Ian’s length pulsed in his hand. He felt the tightening around his fingers, too, a rhythmic clenching and unclenching. Their eyes met, and slowly, Robert raised his fist to his mouth and licked Ian’s come.
Subtle. A hint of salt and sweet and musk.
Ian groaned, flopping back onto the bed as though he didn’t have the strength to hold himself up.
Robert withdrew and stared down at the other man, naked and sprawled lifelessly against rumpled sheets except for the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. His face was flushed and damp, his eyes half closed.
He looked completely wrecked.
Robert wished he had some artistic skill. He wanted to paint him, just like this; he wanted him captured like this, forever.
But a painting would be unnecessary. He had a feeling this image would be burned into his memory until the day he died.
The intimacy of the moment was thick around them, inescapable. He pushed away from the bed and went to the washstand to rinse his hands with cool water from the pitcher. He’d wanted to bind Ian to him with pleasure.
He wondered if he’d succeeded, or if he was only being naive.
He’d had plenty of pleasurable nights with the widow he’d fallen in love with, and it hadn’t made a difference. In the end, she’d ended their relationship quite easily. And Robert suspected that his heart wouldn’t just be bruised if the same thing happened this time—it would be shattered.
Robert didn’t know what kind of experiences Ian had had. He didn’t know if he’d fallen in love before. Robert realized that when they spoke, they never spoke of Ian’s past or his dreams.
The Highlander’s heart was a mystery to him.
Robert wondered if it always would be.
Chapter Fourteen
Ian felt like Robert had unraveled him, as surely as if he’d taken a loose thread from a tapestry and pulled.
He hated being vulnerable, even physically. Maybe especially physically, and all Robert had had to do was look down at him with those dark eyes and command him with that rough velvet voice and he was done for.
As he recovered from the most intense orgasm he’d ever had, he realized Robert had crossed the room. He pushed himself up and found the other man at the washstand, his back to him. He wondered if he should say something.
He didn’t know what to say. Even at the best of times, he didn’t always know what to say, and right now it felt like he was reeling.
He wouldn’t be able to give this up, he realized. Wouldn’t be able to walk away.
He could only hope that Robert was sincere—he didn’t doubt he was sincere at this moment, but things changed. Lord Arden would come back, and they’d have to be even more secretive, and maybe the weight of it would be too much for Robert, eventually.
And even if it wasn’t, even if, by some miracle, Robert wanted to stay by his side through whatever difficulties they faced, what would their future look like? Ian’s livelihood was here. Would Robert live on his brother’s estate indefinitely?
Wouldn’t he eventually get bored without society? It wasn’t as if Ian was a stunning conversationist.
He realized Robert had turned. He was facing him now, arms braced behind him on the edge of the washstand.
Robert was still clothed, and Ian was sitting on the bed naked. He felt this disparity like a cold touch and drew his shirt over his lap to at least hide his wilting erection.
“Why did you leave your family?” Robert asked.
For several seconds, Ian was silent. “Why does it matter?”
Robert smiled wryly. “Because you matter. To me.”
“I wish you wouldna say things like that,” Ian said gruffly.
“Why?”
“It’s disarming,” he finally answered, truthfully. “It makes me want to answer your questions.”
“Then answer my questions.” Robert shot him a winning smile. “This sharing thing…it works both ways, you know, and it doesn’t stop.”